The Best Laid Plans of Fools Like Me

It's nice to have goals, so I can remember exactly what it is that I'm not doing. Actually, I have been writing nearly every day, but I haven't been writing things that I think are particularly worthy of sharing. And you don't tune in to read single sentences intended to remind me of what I wanted to write about when I had time.

Today is my first day off since last Thursday.
I am so, so, SO tired.

I spent last Tuesday learning about the policies and procedures at The Foodhole and meeting the management team. They didn't give me an actual schedule, but when they offered me the job, they asked if I could come in Tuesday and Friday. I assumed I was going to be trained on the cash register, since I was hired to be a cashier. So, when I went in for my first day of actual work on Friday, I did not expect to spend seven hours wiping down tables, hauling trash, and bringing carts in from the corrals.
I'm not complaining about the actual tasks, but more about the fact that I had no idea what to expect. I came home completely exhausted.

And then on Saturday, I was shopping at Foodhole when my phone rang. It was Foodhole, asking if I could pick up a shift. Thanks to my old pal Megan, I've learned that bad shit happens when you turn down a additional shift, but I also didn't want to set any sort of precedent that would lead Foodhole to believe they could call me whenever they wanted and I'd drop everything to come in and work. I probably could have worked the shift, but I had barely recovered from my first day and I had plans with R that night. So I offered to work 3:30 to 7:30, and they could take it or leave it. They took it.

I spent four hours cleaning tables, hauling trash and rounding up carts again, and then R and I went to see Cutthroat Shamrock at Fubar. That is, we went to see Cutthroat Shamrock, but had to suffer through five other bands until they finally went on...at 1am. I was tired, but it was fun, and I figured I could sleep in a bit on Sunday and maybe make it to church for Palm Sunday so the boys could get some whips.

Cut to 2:30 Sunday afternoon, when R, Tito and I are shopping for Tito's First Communion jacket. My phone rings. It's Foodhole asking where I am, since my shift began at 2. I immediately panicked and stated emphatically that NO ONE had told me I was supposed to work Sunday, but I would be there as soon as I could. I got there by 3:15, exhausted, confused, livid, and terrified that it would somehow reflect poorly on me even though I had had absolutely no idea that my schedule had changed. My name wasn't even on the schedule the last time I looked at it, but when I got in, sure enough, there I was, scheduled from 2 to 9:30. MotherFUCKER, I was pissed.

I never would have agreed to work Saturday if I had known my next day off wasn't going to be until Wednesday. I hadn't seen my kids all weekend. I had shit to do. But there I was, on trash/tables/cart duty, once again. And this time, I got pulled aside by Joan (who I have determined to be the least friendly member of the Customer Service Team) to let me know that I was doing the trash wrong. "I've noticed you're going back and forth with the trash and the recycling. You're supposed to take it all at once. It's just inefficient to run back and forth like that. Haven't you ever waited tables??!!?"

Um, no... I'm sorry, I was just trying to stay busy because I'm afraid that if I stop moving, I'll start crying. Oh, and I had no idea I was even supposed to BE here today...

When I got home Sunday night, I couldn't even bend to take my shoes off. I ached like I haven't ached in years. I couldn't decide if I wanted to cry or throw up, and I didn't have the energy to figure out which would be more cathartic. I took a shower so hot, I don't know how my skin didn't blister. R rubbed my feet and my back and tried to encourage me by assuring me it would get easier, but I knew I had to work two more days before I could rest. And even on my days off, I couldn't exactly rest since I had kinda neglected stuff at home, and one of those days off I had requested so I could go see Beeb's band play the National Anthem at the Cardinals game on Thursday.

I almost called in Monday morning and said there was no way I could do this job. I physically couldn't work five days in a row, and because there is no flexibility in the shifts like there was at Squish, I can't leave my kids home all day in the summertime. That's just cruel to do to kids, isn't it? I was pretty sure I should quit. I'd just gotten used to the thought of being home with the kids this summer when I got offered this job. Apart from Foodhole, I haven't gotten one call about my resume, so I was pretty close to giving up on the whole job search and I wasn't going let myself feel guilty about it. We could get by on one income. We did it for years. We'd have to give up some things, but it wouldn't be the end of the world.

I showed up on Monday, jaw clenched and ready to politely explain that working five days in a row isn't what I had in mind when I took this part-time job, and I can clean at home. I don't, of course, but the point is that I could.

And as it turned out, I got to learn something new. I got trained on the registers! Yay! Finally! It's a lot to learn, but it's considerably less physically demanding than what I'd been doing the previous three days. I also learned that typically I'd be scheduled for three (maybe four) shifts a week, non-consecutive, and only one of those shifts would include that Trash/Cafe/Cart gig that was really starting to wear me down, so that was good news. I guess I'll stay.

I'm so relieved that I don't have to work in a cubicle or wear a skirt, pantyhose and heels every day. That's just not me. I get to wear my sexy nose ring and I don't have to cover up my tattoo. I LOVE my nose ring. It lets me wear a little bit of my crazy on the outside. I think it even affords me a bit of slack, in certain situations. Beebie's mom said Shit in a parent-teacher confrerence? Well, the woman does have a nose ring... It's just badass enough to keep lame people from fucking with me, and it quells my social anxiety a bit. I feel like I kinda look like I belong at places like Squish and Foodhole instead of looking like a dorky fat 40-year old woman who only got hired because she's a friend of some manager's mom.

I'm really nervous that I'll accidentally put a water bottle lid into the Recycling bin instead of the Repurposing bin. I also have an irrational fear of using the paging system. I really don't like talking on the phone. I hate how my voice sounds. I'd much rather communicate via email and allow people to imagine that my voice sounds like I was born from the spliced ova of Kathleen Turner and Demi Moore. Really, I sound more like Harvey Firestein's sperm and Gilbert Gottfried's sperm duked it out inside of Phyllis Diller's uterus. You're welcome for that visual, by the way.

Yesterday I got my very own till and I opened register 4, which is actually the busiest lane because it's the closest to the door. I thought EXPRESS would go faster, since everyone would have ten items or fewer, but those people want speed, and I guess it makes sense to put me on a busy lane and put up a "Cashier in Training. Please Be Patient" sign. To my trainers' credit, they showed me a number of possible scenarios that I could run into, but it was by no means an exhaustive list. Most people were understanding and kind, and the ones who weren't, I'd just be extra special sweet to them and thank them for helping me learn. Anybody who'd be a dick to someone who's just trying to learn their new job is, well, a dick.

One of my cashiering nightmares has already come true. I knew I'd probably ring up Fuji apples instead of Gala or Pink Lady or something like that. I'm sure it happens all the time, even to seasoned veteran Foodhole cashiers. I rang a zucchini as a cucumber, and the guy was NOT cool about it. He was the kind of "surface cool", like he wanted me to know that making me feel like an idiot was perfectly within his rights, but he was taking some sort of moral high road and I should be grateful for his benevolence. I wanted to tell him to be sure to use plenty of Vaseline with those zucchinis, but I didn't.

The best part of the day was when the one team member I had not yet met came up and introduced himself to me, and I suddenly remembered that it has been nearly a decade since I had a straight male co-worker. Holy Genitals of Jesus, y'all, this guy was beautiful. Not like Jon Hamm beautiful, but hippie beautiful. He reminded me of James Franco in Howevermany Hours. All rugged, scruffy, hippie, thin, ripped triathlete build... not even my type, for many reasons (not the least of which is the fact that I easily have 50 pounds on the guy because I eat meat and processed foods), but I was in full-on swoon mode when he said, "Hey, Sarah! I'm Franco! It's great to finally meet you! I'd heard great things about you, even before you were hired! I heard you rocked the interview with lots of energy! We love that here at The Foodhole! I'm really looking forward to working with you. I've heard you're aMAYzing!"

I don't remember what I said back. I was concentrating pretty hard on not staring and making sure my jaw wasn't hanging open. Just, wow. Yes, thank you, I know I'm married to a Hall of Fame Husband. And Franco's probably gay anyway, for all I know - not that there's anything wrong with that - but if that's the case, I will gladly just admire the view.

I'm kinda glad I stuck it out.